


Grief Unspoken

by Anonymous_Authors_Incorporated



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Depression, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Other, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:55:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28667334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous_Authors_Incorporated/pseuds/Anonymous_Authors_Incorporated
Summary: Grantaire has a bad night with trauma memories.
Relationships: Enjolras & Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Kudos: 5





	Grief Unspoken

Grantaire stared into his swirling mug of tea, not really seeing it. His mind was a million miles away. Four billion, seven hundred million or so, as the Earth orbits, actually—about five years in the past.

Five years. Had it really been that long? Longer, actually, he knew. Six years since the beginning, but five felt right for purposes of wallowing. It can't, of course, have all gone wrong immediately—despite how hard it had tried.

Six years, then. Six years since he had joined the group, six years since it had started, had him grinning and grabbing his phone at every buzz, anxious and eager to participate, to joke and act and be friends.

He had been so young, in so many ways, then. He hadn’t realised what youth really meant. How could he, when he hadn’t seen pain yet?

He could feel his hands shaking, and he drew his phone from his pocket and opened the damned messenger app. The last message in the group chat he opened was from him, a month before.

_ Hey, _ it started.  _ I know I shouldn’t use this chat like a diary, but… it’s easier to pretend I’m talking to ghosts than to accept that everyone and everything has changed enough that you’re actually gone. Six years (and three days) since I downloaded this godforsaken app, can you believe it? I can’t. _

He typed a new message.

_ I feel like Eddie from that Alain Boublil book. Why do I keep coming back? _

He felt tears prick his eyes.

_ Empty chairs at empty tables… _

_ You know, I still think about everyone all the time. You two, and Shay, and Gabe, and Missy, and the rest. All the time, you know? _

_ I wish it wasn’t my fault. _

He closed the app out, stood up, and grabbed his guitar. Maybe if he played until his fingers ached…

What, he’d feel less hollow?

He played anyway.

When his fingertips started to hurt, he picked up his phone and texted Enjolras.

_ Is indulging in sad music catharsis or self sabotage? Please advise. _

He put his phone face down, and his head in his hands, on the edge of tears. He felt shaky, like with one wrong text message he’d stumble into a trauma-flavored panic attack.

He wished he was drunk.

He didn’t reach for the bottle.

His phone buzzed, and he almost smiled at the proof that Enjolras’s humor really was as dismally dark as his about some things.

**Why not both? Find out after :D!**

If he’d been able, Grantaire would have laughed. Instead, all he could taste was salt.

_ Feels like sabotage. Trauma do be spicy _

**Want company?**

Grantaire considered it. He thought about just saying yes, of giving in and crying into Enjolras’s shoulder, of talking to him about the ghosts that still haunt the corners of his brain. 

But no, that would require he value his mental health more that Enjolras’s, enough to risk burdening him, and—

_ No _

He sighed, and picked up his guitar again, sniffling.

He was halfway through a song when he heard a knock on the door to his apartment.

He stood, wiped away a couple tears with the corner of his hoodie sleeve, and opened the door.

Enjolras stood there, smiling at him sadly.

“Hey,” he offered.

Grantaire sniffed and gestured him into the apartment, towards the couch he’d been sitting on. Enjolras sat down next to where he’d been sitting, and when Graintaire followed suit, curling into himself, Enjolras simply pulled him gently into his chest.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

_ Oh my friends, my friends forgive me that I live, and you are gone. _

**Author's Note:**

> Is this what it's like to be the Pain Train? I'm not sure, but hey, join us in the server! https://discord.com/invite/vERrqvA


End file.
